


come over love

by feeltripping



Series: atlantic city [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 01:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11635737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: Lexa visits Clarke.





	come over love

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta-ed. some of this was posted before on tumblr, it's been cleaned up and expanded on.

Lexa arrives on the seventh day of spring. Snow still hangs heavy on the trees and the roofs, and layers of hard frost make the ground unforgiving and treacherous. The horses pant plumes of white smoke in the morning air like dragons. Clarke ducks out of her quarters and smiles, shivering as she hastily ties her coat shut. The wind bites at her face, her nose and the tips of her ears have gone numb by the time Lexa has greeted Jaha and Kane and dismounted with a creak of leather, her boots thumping surely on the roads they’ve carved throughout their small community, studded with rocks to make them less slippery. Her guards are stuck so closely to her Clarke doesn’t know how they avoid treading on her heels. 

“ _Wanheda_ ,” Lexa murmurs, when Clarke draws near enough to hear. Her guards make a complicated gesture with their fingers. Jaha’s jaw flexes before Kane draws him away. 

Clarke has almost become accustomed to the constant presence of Lexa’s personal gona. Enough so that she opens her mouth before clicking it shut again. “My room?”

Lexa inclines her head. She follows Clarke through the camp, ignoring the way people lurk against the walls and watch her, mistrustful and afraid and in awe despite themselves. Her guards wait outside Clarke’s door and Clarke deadbolts the door. “Wanheda?” Clarke asks, eyebrow arched.

“Power play,” Lexa acknowledges, somehow both apologetic and not at the same time. 

“Something to be worried about?”

Lexa tilts her head, the light glancing oddly off the paint on her face. “Not yet.”

“Good. Then come here.”

Lexa smiles. They kiss once, light, Lexa’s hand on the back of Clarke’s neck. She noses at Clarke’s forehead while Clarke undoes her coat buttons one by one, peeling it away while the snow melts into rivulets of water, pooling at their feet. Lexa hums, pleased; her own fingers peel Clarke’s clothes away with calm methodical dedication.

“Hold on,” Clarke says, when Lexa moves to shuffle them towards the bed. She ruffles in a pile of clothing on a chair and finds a scrap of a rag. Wets it with water from her canteen. “Okay.” She sits Lexa on the edge of her bed. Lexa takes the gear off, setting it aside with a soft metallic clink on the small table beside Clarke’s bed, and Clarke starts to gently wipe around her eyes. Lexa’s skin cleans in inches, until she’s barefaced and calm, her eyes still.

“Hello,” she murmurs.

“Hello.” They kiss again, and Clarke settles into Lexa’s lap. “Did you miss me?”

Lexa is smiling. “You always ask me that.”

“Don’t dodge the question.”

Lexa kisses Clarke’s eyebrow. “I always miss you.” She goes to kiss Clarke again and Clarke leans away. Lexa makes a grumbly noise. “Missed you more than anything.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Don’t lay it on. I wanna know what’s in your bag.”

Lexa affects a look of innocence. “My bag?”

Clarke flicks Lexa in the ear, causing her mouth to drop open in affront. 

“Very well,” Lexa allows. She starts to shift Clarke to the side to stand.

Clarke tightens her grip. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get my bag. Since you want to see inside it so very badly.”

Clarke straddles her, easing Lexa onto her back on Clarke’s bed. “I don’t think so.”

Lexa’s smile always starts slow and at the corner of one side of her mouth, pulling away. “No?”

“No,” Clarke says. She kisses Lexa again just under her jaw. “Unless you really want to leave right now. I won’t stop you if you really want to go.”

Lexa tips her head back to allow Clarke access to her throat. Her hands slide up and down Clarke’s waist, undoing the bindings of Clarke’s bra with ease. She breaks their kiss to press her lips above Clarke’s chest, then slides her mouth sideways until Clarke shudders.

++

Clarke wakes up when she hears her door open. Lexa’s voice is sleep rough and too quiet for Clarke to make out what she’s saying, but she’s not worried. After a moment her door closes again. Clarke feels the mattress dip. She flutters her eyes open. “And what’s my present?”

Lexa arches an eyebrow. “Who says it’s a present.”

Clarke sits up, the sheet falling down to her waist and leaving her torso bare. “Me. Whatever’s there, it’s mine.”

Lexa is staring at Clarke’s chest, the bruises her teeth left on Clarke’s collarbones and ribcage. She blinks. “I… yes, of course.” She passes Clarke a bundle.

Clarke unwraps it, shucking the protective leather case. “Furs?”

“Mm.” Clarke touches her face to one. Lexa watches her, a pleased glint in her eye. Too pleased.

“You killed these,” Clarke concludes. She thinks about it, then laughs. “I’ve decided it’s romantic.”

“Good,” Lexa says.

Clarke frowns at the softness in her hands. “I thought--I mean, last time. We talked about, uh.”

“Ink,” Lexa says. “I remember.” She settles back against the wall and tugs Clarke onto the mattress until her back is nestled into Clarke’s chest. She kisses the side of Clarke’s throat, a sneaking grope across Clarke’s chest. “I thought… I would prefer to do it in Polis, if you don’t mind.”

Clarke thinks about Polis in the summer. Festivals and roasts over bonfires and dancing among the trees. The craftspeople in the street markets and Lexa tanning golden brown in the sun. “Summer,” she says, and her smile grows until Lexa’s matches it. “I like it.”

Lexa’s eyes soften. “Good.”

They kiss again. “It’s a romantic time,” Clarke tells her, tipping her head back onto Lexa’s shoulder. Her breath flutters Lexa’s braids. “I mean, I think it is. We’re not sure about the calendar down here. But there was a holiday, before. Before before.”

Lexa kisses Clarke’s temple, her cheek against Clarke’s hair. “Oh?”

“A holiday. A day for love.”

Lexa makes a humming noise. “I love you every day.”

Clarke smiles. “You’d like this holiday. There was a massacre.”

Lexa’s noise becomes slightly more pleased. Her hand curls around Clarke’s hip. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We don’t have to talk at all,” Clarke agrees, and Lexa’s furs, spread out under them, are incredibly soft and the sheets are smooth and they pale in comparison to the warmth and give of her skin, the play of Lexa’s muscles under Clarke’s fingers, the intimacy of kissing the last of the sleep out of Lexa’s mouth and seeing the expanse of her chest and the naked apex of her thighs as she tosses the sheets away and strips her out of her shirt to leave them bare and goosebumped in the morning air through old stone walls. Paler where the sun doesn’t ever get to kiss them the way Clarke has and bearing indents from when Clarke loved her just hours before.

Lexa whispers in trigedalseng and says her name so quietly and full of everything and Clarke thinks Lexa must have had more sex than she has but she still shudders when Clarke touches the softest part of her, when she dips inside and makes Heda moan. “Say my name,” she asks, and Lexa does, repeated, _Clarke, Clarke_. “Someday,” she gasps, while Lexa is between her legs and her hair is somehow perfectly wavy still, even with Clarke’s fingers making a mess of the back of it. 

Lexa loves eating Clarke out. the softness of Clarke’s inner thighs, pale pale white except for the marks Lexa suckles across them, pink and red and blue purples fading to yellow greens. the way Clarke shivers at the tickle of Lexas hair on her skin far before she dips her head and starts with a long slow lick up the length of her, already flushed and slick and ready for Lexa’s tongue and lips and the littlest graze of her teeth. she loves the heady feeling of it, the power given in the way Clarke sobs her name and cants her hips and can’t help the yanks to Lexa’s hair gathered up in her fisted fingers.

“Lexa,” Clarke pants, “pleaseplease–” She loses her words in one of Lexa’s index fingers slipping inside her, no friction down to the base of her knuckle. Lexa curls it, the silk flutter and the faint rough wall and how rotating makes Clarke’s breath hitch even more. Two fingers, slow scissor and a tilt of her wrist and Clarke arches against her, heels digging into the small of Lexa’s back. Cradles between Clarke’s legs and her hands tracing Clarke’s sides to grope across her chest and feel the soft curve of her breasts, the pebble of her nipples against the palm of Lexa’s hands. “Lexa,” Clarke says again, and tugs at her hair again. 

Lexa slides up her body for a kiss, holding still so Clarke can suck herself off Lexa’s tongue and lick herself from the inside of Lexa’s teeth. “Hei,” she mumbles, against Clarke’s kiss swollen lips.

Clarke smiles at her, dilated pupils and slack mouth and the flicker tip of her tongue between her teeth. Flushed rosy and a ruddy glow down her chest and a hickey blooming dark and claimed on her collarbone. “Hi,” she says back, quiet. “Stay with me?”

“Always,” Lexa promises, and worms a thigh between Clarke’s legs, the burning heat of her on Lexa’s knee and the feel of the mattress between her toes as she braces. Thumb between their bodies on Clarke’s clit with enough pressure Clarke is squirming for more or to get away and when she rocks her hips and rolls her body Clarke’s moan is low and groaning and rumbling long. 

“I love you,” Clarke gasps, when her body starts to lock up.

Lexa shushes her, murmuring in her ear as she drives her body down and grinds and repeats. “I’m here,” she says, when Clarke eyes squeeze shut and her head is thrown back on the pillow, the muscles in her neck straining and sobs making their way out between her teeth. “I have you.”

Clarke comes, her hips bucking up sloppy and rough and lost in the throes of it. her fingernails draw blood where theyre dug into the back of Lexa’s neck and the muscle in her lower back and when she slumps down boneless and spent and limp Lexa nuzzles under her jaw and rocks just to hear Clarke’s too-sensitive whine and her slight flinch. Licks her thumb and slides two fingers into Clarke’s mouth and hook behind her teeth and tug her up for another kiss. “I love you,” she says, and every time she’s surprised by the depth of emotion she feels behind it.

They stay pressed together on their sides and the sun is too high now and it’s time to get up almost but Clarke’s breathing isn’t all the way settled yet and Lexa’s forehead is sweat slick against hers and their breaths tangle together. There’s a tiny bruise between Clarke’s breasts and she hopes, like a child, that will never fade. Lexa kisses her again, hard and full of longing, and Clarke tries to memorize the look of her, the taste, the smell. The way their bodies tangled together and how for a suspended moment in time, it was just Clarke and Lexa, endless. 

Lexa pulls away. Clarke’s bite from the night before shines on her wrist, reddened along the edges and the faint droplets of blood rising black to the surface and darkening the imprint. “Someday,” she promises.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ feeltripping, let me know what you think


End file.
